


but I linger on, dear

by elderflowergin



Series: two-headed dragon [1]
Category: Hyena (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderflowergin/pseuds/elderflowergin
Summary: "Being a romantic takes a hell a lot of hope."
Relationships: Yoon Hee-jae/Jung Geum-ja
Series: two-headed dragon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882501
Comments: 40
Kudos: 28





	1. (but I linger on, dear)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefeastandthefast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefeastandthefast/gifts).



Hee-jae pondered whether he really wanted to go for the Columbia mixer. He’d been to an informal gathering a few days before; this one sounded like a frat party. It was held at a cigar bar and there wasn’t a single female classmate on the invite list. It didn’t sound like his idea of fun, it had low work value and he was a little too nervous about the outcome of the JV talks to sit around and smoke cigars with his ex-classmates. 

They’d come to the ABA conference to make the joint venture pitch to one of the American firms and to do some light networking. Well, he was there for light networking; Geum-ja worked the rooms day and night, as expected. 

It’d been a couple of years since they formally turned Choong into a partnership, and while it was still a fledgling practice, they both knew there was a long way to go. The pitch to the Americans was a step up to a new class of clients and work, they were directly up against Song & Kim. He was cautiously optimistic; he knew tradition mattered a lot to some of these establishments. 

Geum-ja, on the other hand -- 

He liked where they were. They worked well together; constantly engaging each other’s opinions across the reception area, debating precedents and testing out arguments. It was refreshing to be pushed like that in terms of pure legal work - his output had never been better, and he was more inspired in court; he argued harder. 

(Well, until Geum-ja started one of her capers, at least, and he found himself on unwilling guard while she popped the lock on a suspect’s trunk to look for blood or stray hairs, and then he wondered how exactly life brought him to this point while trying his best not to have a stroke.)

(The non-work part of things, though? 

He’d gone back to the office one night after an argument with his brother, in the hopes that work would soothe his anger. She was still up, reading case digests on her murky couch, but one look at him told her clearly that he’d had a bad day. She leaned over to brush something off his face with her thumb; he responded by kissing it, then her face; it wasn’t long before he pulled her on top of him. 

He apologised to an extremely confused Hyeok-jae the next day - he hadn’t done so since the nineties - and marvelled at the restorative effects of athletic, deeply satisfying sex. It seemed to work much better for his mood than CrossFit.

Then there was that _other_ day - he’d been in trial all week, cross-examining an array of witnesses, and she’d claimed to have something on in one of the other courtrooms - something that left her suspiciously free enough to watch him do his cross ex for two days straight.

She dropped by with a celebratory bottle of wine after he won, leaned on his door wearing a shift dress, unusually for her, and gave him a _look_ from beneath her lashes. That’s all it took for them to end up fucking on the couch. He was drunk on rioja and a well-earned victory; she leaned back, touching herself with a smirk of pleasure, head dangling ever so slightly over the arm of his sofa. 

It was as though she was having a very good meal and didn’t want to be disturbed until she clenched her legs around his waist and came with a provocative gasp that singularly undid his self control.

That’d been that, till the American opportunity came by and they’d been running themselves ragged putting together the pitch and managing their existing caseload.)

He changed into a neatly pressed charcoal-grey suit and decided - unusually for him - to go tieless. Her coat was draped carelessly over the chair; he picked it up. It smelled of her perfume - something a little smoky and dark and -- something indefinably her, whatever it was. 

-

The bar was packed, but he spotted her instantly in her pinstriped pantsuit, in intimate conversation with Belinda Prakash. 

Belinda had been the English lawyer on one of Issume’s projects in the UK - the first British-Asian woman to ascend to partner-level at a Magic Circle firm, and a force to be reckoned with. She started out clashing with Geum-ja, and then they became fast friends. He had no idea what happened there; both of them kept their secrets - and especially that one - close to their chests. 

Geum-ja turned in his direction. Her eyes flickered down to his neck for a nanosecond and narrowed a little. 

“What are you ladies talking about?” It was an old line, but it always had the intended effect. 

“Pegging,” said Belinda at the same time as Geum-ja went, “periods.” 

“Ah, Mr Yoon,” greeted Belinda with an outstretched hand. He bent to accommodate the gentle kiss to his cheek. “I hear Choong has been making some great strides back home. Good job,” she said, with a pat to his shoulder. 

“Thank you, and congratulations, Madam Queen’s Counsel," he offered, face warm at her words. She was rigidly sincere; any compliment from her was heart-felt. 

“Thank you, it’s been an interesting year. Your father is well?” 

“He is. How are the girls? I hear Anya did well on her internship.”

She snorted. “Anya started learning Korean for those BTS boys and she might carry on learning for your Ms Boo, as it turns out. It’s been pro bono this, eonni’s raspberry shampoo that over at ours.” 

“Any news about the JV?” he pressed. 

Belinda favoured Geum-ja with an inscrutable look. “Well, we’ll know soon enough. I have nothing to share now.” 

Geum-ja turned to him. “Aren’t you going to the Columbia party tonight?”

He quickly checked his phone and sent off a couple of texts. “I’m skipping. That place on the Upper West Side has tables open so I’m going to go. Want to join me?” 

“Shouldn’t we be here today, then? I only just saw Belinda.”

Belinda hid a smile behind her drink. “Oh, look at the time,” she said, staring at the clock over the bar. “I promised one of my partners I’d get back to him on -- a thing. Geum-ja, no one interesting is around tonight - just go. You need a break too.” She sauntered away, heels click-click-clicking with ridiculous speed, before either of them can get a word in. 

Geum-ja sighed at that. “Fine. I need to get my coat, though.” 

He stretched out his left hand with her coat in it; she arched a brow. 

“You were feeling confident, weren’t you,” she said, slipping hers on. He smiled as they made their way to the exit. 

A voice from their left barreled towards them and Geum-ja sped up. “You have to get a move on,” she whispered. “I _really_ don’t want to talk to Mr. Sterling tonight.” Hee-jae took her cue, covering her until they reached the hotel lobby. He sent her brisk-walking through the revolving doors and turned around to face her nemesis. 

“Oh, I was looking for Ms Jung,” complained the unremarkable man, looking disappointed. 

“Well, she sends her apologies,” reported Hee-jae, rude and enjoying it, before turning around and exiting the building himself. 

-

As he started on his third or fourth round of shiraz, Hee-jae realised it might have been the first time in months they’d actually gone out for a meal together. 

Her suit blazer hung off the corner of her chair and she’d rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt; he remained in his jacket. (He was already tieless; he didn’t need to feel more naked than he absolutely had to.) 

They started out complaining about Mr Sterling “Horrible man, can’t read a cue, always interrupting conversations,” she complained with an eye-roll), moved on to their worries over the JV (she’s confident, he’s less so; they both concluded that they’d stave off any JV talk for the rest of the evening) and then to - of all things - vacations. 

“It’s not my thing,” she said, swirling her glass absently. “I mean, I didn’t go anywhere as a kid, and I don’t think I’d know what to do if I went on one. Didn’t you go for that yoga retreat in Bali? Do you think I’d enjoy beaches?” 

He pondered the question. Private seafront, beach chairs, giant cabana, licking tequila and salt off her skin - 

“Hey,” she waved her fork at him. “Are you already dreaming of the beach?” 

He pressed down the front of his shirt, which must have read awkwardly as he had no tie on. “You don’t seem like the restful sort. You’d probably be working on the beach.” 

“I could learn to enjoy it,” she mused out loud. “I’ll find out in a few years, maybe.”

He laughed at that. “You could go to a beach tomorrow if you wanted. What’s stopping you?”

She looked down at her glass, deep in thought, then up at him with determination. “Well, I will when we get this firm off its feet. Till then, I don’t think I can imagine relaxing.” 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, because it wasn’t as though she’d displayed any insecurity, but he reached over to where her fork hand rested, and brushed the back of it with his thumb. Her skin was soft, and he felt the goosebumps his thumb left in his wake.

“Let’s drink to that,” he said, taking a good long sip of his wine. 

She tilted her head at him. “You weren’t just thinking of the beach, were you?” 

He coughed. He could have lied, but he decided not to. “No,” he replied. 

Geum-ja circled her index finger as if to say, _carry on_ , and he took another sip of wine, tapping the foot of the glass with his fingers. “I was thinking of you on the beach,” he said carefully, emboldened by the fact that no one else could understand what he was saying. 

“Was I enjoying myself? Or was I working?” she asked, and of course, she looked curious, not amused, which somehow made it worse. 

He looked at her directly and said, “No, you weren’t working,” and it might have been the lighting, or his imagination, but she took a fortifying sip of her own wine, and her face flushed. 

-

Hee-jae could have blamed that night on the shiraz, if he wanted - it’d been flowing nonstop alongside the flawless steaks, but he knew there were other reasons he was a little discombobulated: her loose collar, the colour of her eyes in the low light, the turn of her tender bare wrists. It wasn’t those things, precisely; it was that no one got to see her like that, and it felt like a secret was being gradually revealed in that nook; her soft layers pulled back just for him.

Why that was a turn-on was anyone’s guess, though. 

(He supposed the reason for that was the stiletto heel she had running up his socked calf.)

“You have to stop that,” he said, wiping the corner of his mouth. “I have to walk out of this place looking civilised. 

She withdrew her foot, but not before one long, sinuous drag of the heel along his ankle, still looking perfectly relaxed and at ease, and he called for the bill and got them out in record time. 

“Let’s walk back,” she suggested, although there was a slight nip in the air and she was in heels. “It’s a nice night for a walk, and there’s a park on the way back.” 

“Are you sure? Your shoes can’t be that comfortable.” 

“You do realise you’re trying to keep up with me right now?” 

He was, it was true. “I’ve been drinking, so it doesn’t count. Is it your superpower?”

Geum-ja turned up her collar and looked back at him. “I was a hostess when I was in law school. You learn to walk quickly in heels when you’re in the service industry.” 

He finally fell in step with her. “It’s good exercise, then.” 

“Better than your CrossFit,” she smirked. “I had to be quick, and avoid drunks and kitchen accidents, all on heels. Well, I was younger then, but it gets ingrained in you."

"Excuse me, I’m very fit, and Crossfit covers more than walking fast in heels.” 

She offered a sidelong glance. "Should we put it to the test, then? Next ten blocks -"

"No running or jumping red lights -"

"Obviously. Winner decides -- winner decides the next bet."

The breeze picked up a little as they crossed streets and blocks. She flitted past shopfronts and dodged other people like she was playing a pedestrian’s version of Grand Theft Auto. He did much the same, except he played dirty and dove into her path from time to time, laughing breathlessly. He knew they had to be menacing the passers-by but it was exhilarating. 

She knocked into a grate a block early and caught her heel. “Ah, hell,” she complained, trying to free it with some effort. She was lucky she hadn’t tripped. “I’m not used to these grates.” 

“Let me get that,” he offered, panting a little as he slowed down to a stop. 

He bent down on one leg - acutely aware of the loaded position - and held her leg to steady her with one hand as he retrieved the heel with the other.

“Done,” he concluded, clapping his hands with a flourish as he got up with an assist from her hand. "Shall we call it a win for you? Are we done?"

“Alright, fine. For you," she conceded, shoving her hands into her pockets and taking in a deep breath, as the park loomed ahead. 

In the twinkling city lights, with the sound of the night all around them, and the breeze in the trees, Jung Geum-ja finally slowed down. 

-

“Was it fun, being a hostess?” 

The wind whistled past their ears as they turned onto the park at a stroll’s pace. “It’s a job, Yoon,” she replied, absently. “It just was. I learnt a lot, though, about men and women. Possibly before I really understood what I was learning.” 

It wasn’t that it was hard to imagine her being young and innocent; it was just hard to think about, because it reminded him that there was a time she was soft and young on the outside, too, and she had no one to protect her except for Ju-ho. But he wasn’t also one for emotional logorrhea, so he said nothing. “What did you learn?”

She turned around, facing him and walked backwards against the wind. “Oh, lots of things. Strip poker!” she exclaimed, brushing flyaway hairs behind her ears before launching into a story about rescuing the club’s top escort from the clutches of a very aggressive society wife, and being treated to free drinks when she graduated from law school. 

“Sounds like a good memory.”

“It was,” she said. “What about you, then? No hostessing or strip poker, I guess. Just studying and recitals.” 

“I’m going for one tomorrow, by the way,” he said. “I should have asked you too.” 

“Oh, it’s fine. What are they playing?”

“Schubert,” he answered, and then as an afterthought, “My mother enjoyed playing his compositions when she was alive.” 

If she was fazed by the mention of his mother, she didn’t show it. “What was your favourite of hers?” 

“ _Ständchen,_ ” he said without even having to think about it. He was ten thousand miles from home and he could smell her floral perfume - freesia, he thought it was - the sunlight on his skin and the tinkle of the keys in the mid-afternoon. 

She smiled, mostly to herself. “I’ve never heard that. What does it sound like?”

He hummed the opening bars, a little off-pitch. He wished he had it on his phone; he only had minicasettes somewhere in his old room of her practice sessions. There had never been a recorded performance of _Ständchen_ , but he thought it might be worthwhile asking his brother. 

"Yoon," she said softly when he finished. "That was lovely."

They walked on in relative silence, punctuated by the whistling leaves and the occasional distant honk of an irritated driver. 

"Aren't you getting tired at all? I think my jetlag is just hitting me."

“You know what would perk you up? A quick sprint to the statue over there.”

"I hate you," he groaned, with feeling. "But you get to decide the next bet, so fine. Just one thing.” 

She turned to him then, and they stood like that, facing each other on the boulevard as the wind whipped their collars.

“Winner gets whatever they ask for.” 

It felt like the air changed then; like there was something dangerous and beautiful taking flight. He thought it’d be frightening, but it wasn’t at all. It felt like freedom. 

She bit her lower lip, a rare nervous gesture, like she was trying to control some outpouring of emotion. “Anything? No limits or exceptions?” 

"Yes." 

He ran helter-skelter for the fucking statue then; she shrieked at him and ran too, because she was a demented machine who would win out of spite and argue about the rules later. 

They reached almost at a dead heat, but Hee-jae’s legs put him over and he knocked into Eleanor Roosevelt, dignified and handsome as he wasn’t. But he won, and so that was all that mattered as she collapsed onto the statue herself with a breathless laugh. “I should have run without the shoes, fuck,” she gasped, sounding far more exhilarated than offended at having lost. 

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help himself either; he laughed too, then gathered himself up and gave her a hand, and they leaned against Eleanor’s poufy skirt. 

“Hey,” she whispered, eyes soft, voice breathless still. “You win. What do you want? I have to give it to you.” 

He pushed off the statue then, a little dizzy from the question, the headiness of it. He could have asked for anything now; she’d have to give it, and she couldn’t say anything about it. Fair and square, rules of the game.

She leaned against Eleanor, hair a little mussed, hands in her coat pockets; he saw her chest heave from the exertion, face luminous in the moonlight, the air fogging on her exhale, the love of his life, the love of his life. 

“Jung Geum-ja,” he started, and before he could formulate the correct question, she pulled him forward a little by his lapels and he -- stopped thinking. 

His hands went beneath her coat and blazer, the soft white silk of her blouse skin-warm to touch and he felt her tremble ever so slightly as he pressed her against the statue. Her eyes were unfocused; he tilted her chin up to him and kissed her. 

He meant for it to be swift and short, more like punctuation than a sentence, but he couldn’t help but let it linger. It felt like they’d been building up to this since he felt her heel on his ankle, halfway between a stab and a caress, or maybe the day she appeared in a laundromat as Kim Hee-sun and broke his entire life open. 

She touched his face too, a little hesitant like there was a spell she was afraid to break, ran her thumbs along the lines of his cheekbones, his jaw and then his neck, as if to keep him in place.

They released, pausing for a breath and she rested her face in his neck, uncharacteristically panting. "You haven't - you didn't ask, so that's not it, okay," she said with a final press of her lips against his collarbone - a solemn promise - before moving him away. 

"What?" He's confused. 

" _You didn't ask the question_. So it's still yours to use when you want," she clarified, standing up and brushing her coat off. Her eyes blazed. "Yoon?"

"Yeah?" 

"Let’s go back.”

-

They were in the lift, the two of them, and four Chinese lawyers. Hee-jae had a conversation with the Shanghai lawyer, studiously avoiding Geum-ja’s gaze, but he felt it anyway; heavy and languid, as though her own tiredness left her unable to edit herself like she normally would. 

The Chinese lawyers departed a good four floors before them, and they remained on opposite ends of the lift. She leaned a hip against the rear wall, arms folded and eyes on him; he watched their reflections in the doors. He’d been calmer than this in courtrooms, for goodness’ sake. 

“Hey,” she started. “Why aren’t you wearing a tie?” 

He could have played dumb, pretended he couldn’t find his matching tie, but he decided not to. 

“You like me like that,” he said, smiling to himself. “You’re softer on me like that. Aren’t you?” 

“It is,” she said, licking her lips, “an exceptional turn-on,” and just like that, it was like race-cars in his brain. “Are you actually _blushing_?”

He protested. “Of course not, I was pretty red to begin with.” 

“You had to know. I always thought that’s why you did it.” 

“We can both be right, you know,” he said. “You’re nicer to me when you’re turned on.” 

“Shut the fuck up and get out of the lift,” she ordered and he obeyed instantly as the lift doors opened on their floor. 

-

Things slowed down when they finally got to their room. She removed her shoes and stumbled into an armchair to massage her feet. “This part is always hell,” she complained, pressing a thumb into the ball of her right foot. “Racing was such a bad idea,” she said, shaking her head. 

He took off his coat and got his keycard and phone out to put by the bedside, then sat at the end of the bed and picked her other foot off the floor. The mood had cooled down somewhat, so it felt natural to hold her foot like this, thumbs pressing into the arches of her foot, calluses scraping past his. The simple domesticity was a comfort, and he’s focused on it till she pressed her foot against his pelvic bone, completely transparent.

“You must be exhausted,” he said, calmly as he could manage, though he leaned back on his left palm to let her foot do the magic, and he made the mistake of looking up at her,so _hungry_. 

“I’m fine,” she said, voice hoarse. “Take off your clothes.” 

He moved her foot off, set it down on the floor with one last firm press of his knuckle, stood up and moved to her. She didn’t break eye contact as he shed his jacket, then undid his cuffs and his shirt buttons; she dipped a hand down the front of her trousers, transgressive and so _hot_. 

“Do you mind,” she asked. 

“You don’t want my help?” he offered, tilting his head down at her. 

She smiled, a slow, dirty thing. “I promise I’ll teach you something I learnt hostessing,” she said, and then at the slightly alarmed expression, she stopped and hurriedly added, “Oh, it’s not like that, goodness. Lie down before you fall down.” 

Geum-ja climbed in with him under the covers, whispering an excess of filth in his ear as she brought him off with a talented hand (he was going to ask what sort of lesson this was, who taught it, _later_ , when he wasn’t busy having the run-up to what might be the best orgasm of his life). 

It was dark, the curtains blocking out most of the light from the outside; all he had was Geum-ja next to him, fully-dressed, the hypnotic quality of her voice, the occasional grazing of her lips against his ear, blood-hot and feverish. 

-

(He won’t wake up to the sound of Geum-ja’s phone buzzing on the floor; not even when she curls out of his hands, lifting the dead weight of his limbs with care as she picks it up. It’s hours away from when she’ll leave, in jeans and a Breton-striped top, haphazardly throwing her coat on and walking out the door, light-footed in sneakers; hours from when his heart cracks open all over again -

but for now, he sleeps; breathing even; his heartbeat steady against hers, almost a seamless, singular sound.) 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Belinda is played by none other than Bollywood icon Rekha. 
> 
> 2\. When I freaked out on the romantic walk here, Ilayaraja and AR Rahman came to my rescue and took me to where I had to be with their songs. I've taken the title of the work from Dream A Little Dream Of Me, which I assume plays on Hee-jae's secret playlist of songs that he listens to when he's yearning A Lot. 
> 
> 3\. This chapter exists because @thefeastandthefast asked for elaboration of a throwaway line in the next chapter. (She suggested darkened arches and the river; I wrote what felt like seven bajillion words and gave her precisely neither.) The result was this monster. She gave me Ständchen, Eleanor Roosevelt and Riverside Park; and that was before she had to beat this into shape. My eternal gratitude, always.


	2. everything I've ever wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belinda looked out into the distance, contemplative. “I used to ask you this question, about which rooms you wanted to be in.” 
> 
> “All of them, till the top,” replied Geum-ja. “Always. Nothing less than that.”

Belinda - ironically enough - waited under a no smoking sign, having already lit up, greeting Geum-ja cheek to cheek. “I thought you might still be sleeping,” she said, amused. It was a joke dating back to their project in London.

Geum-ja smiled impishly at that. “I can wake up early when the occasion calls for it,” she said, gesturing at Belinda. “What’s the answer?”

Belinda gave her a sharp look, then passed her a cigarette to light up. “You must have known when I called you.”

“It’s a no, then.” She sighed, taking a long drag off her cigarette. “Why?” 

Belinda exhaled. “The late Mr Kim went to graduate school with one of our old partners. Feels the need to nurture Song & Kim through this ‘crisis’. Thus, Mr Ma over you”. 

“Oh come _on_. The Kim in Song & Kim isn’t even there anymore. There has to be a better reason than that,” Geum-ja snorted, not bothering to hide her disappointment. 

Belinda looked out into the distance, contemplative. “I used to ask you this question, about which rooms you wanted to be in.” 

“All of them, till the top,” replied Geum-ja. “Always. Nothing less than that.” 

“I think you will make it, too,” she said thoughtfully. 

Geum-ja smiled bitterly at that. “It’s still a no, though.”

Belinda tilted her head. “You work hard, harder than anyone I know, but it’s not really for the money or prestige or fame. I don’t even think it’s for the clients. Something else drives you; something else gets you up in the morning, and whatever it is, it doesn’t stop till the thing is done.”

The building loomed in her head - a quick flash, before she dismissed it and looked at Belinda quizzically. “I suppose I should be glad they’re not criticising our work ethic.” 

Belinda decisively stamped out her cigarette with the front of her boot and delicately pushed it aside, black grit sticking to the pavement. Her voice was low, like she was disclosing an important secret. 

“Listen, it was always a long shot. They were going to go with what’s familiar, what makes sense - you two, you’re not that. And - “ she pauses here, unusually hesitant - “someone mentioned that you might be in a relationship. Apparently you were spotted after dinner last night.” 

Geum-ja swore and dropped her cigarette, singing a finger. Both of them remained quiet for a moment. 

“I can convince them, you know. I could do it. Get me in a room with them.” 

Belinda exhaled hard, a frustrated sound. “You’ll convince some people, but not enough to get into all the rooms. I’m not just talking about the JV. You two, as you are. It’s already out of the norm, and the part where you’re _together_ \- it becomes the conversation. How you make him look, and how he makes you look. That’s what they’ll talk about. That’s why it’s always going to be the old boys, the establishment - over you. It’s probably holding you back at home, too.” 

They stood in silence for a while when a pair of Brazilian lawyers came by to vape, and moved to sit on the bench instead, side by side. 

“I should hire some old men, then,” said Geum-ja, sardonic and biting as she leaned back, legs crossed. 

Belinda’s voice remained in its low register, but she still sounded vexed. “No, I don’t mean that, that defeats the fucking purpose. You don’t have to ram into every obstacle at top speed. Work within from time to time, not against - that’s how they let you in. That’s what worked, for me.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “It’s not me, though. It might have worked for you -" 

Belinda pressed on, undeterred. “It didn’t, not always. There isn’t a single perfect approach. My point is - you handle every problem with a sledgehammer. If it’s a nut -”

Geum-ja finished it for her. “Just use a nutcracker, right?” 

They grinned in the familiarity of that old line. 

“If it means you let your guy gladhand the establishment boys, do it. Make it so that they can’t say _shit_ about how you dress or walk or who wears the pants in the partnership. If it means everything to you to be in the top room, make the compromises and lock it down so you can get there.” 

Geum-ja leaned in, and at that angle she could detect a whiff of Belinda’s perfume under the smoke. “Perhaps I should end things with him, then,” she said with a wince. “I like working with him, though.” 

“I haven’t been trying to break you up for the last five minutes, Geum-ja. I _like_ Mr Yoon. I can speak for your business partnership. I’d ask if the personal side's casual, but your Mr Yoon’s never had much of a poker face, so I know what he’d say. How does the man live like that, honestly?”

“ _Right_? I don’t know, Belinda. It’s a mystery to me too.” 

“It’s a very handsome face, but it’s like a _billboard_ of emotions. I mean, there’s hating, and then there’s _broadcasting_. I shouldn’t have to say, _Mr Yoon, please stop looking like you want to murder Mr Ha every time he enters the room, uncross your arms, there’s a dear_. Was he never housetrained?”

Geum-ja couldn’t resist laughing at that. “It’s had its uses.” 

“Well? Casual or not? If it is, you should probably have a conversation with him about that.”

Geum-ja sighed. “It’s not something that can go hand in hand with seamlessly running Choong to the top.” 

Belinda gave her a penetrating look. “Not casual for you either, then.”

She looked away, across the road to the next tall, grey building. “I’ve done terrible things, Belinda. I don’t regret them, and I don’t expect I ever will. I’ll pay for it if I haven’t already,” she said factually. 

Belinda didn’t ask, because she, of all people, understood secrets and the occasional value of not knowing them. “Well, first about work. You’re good together. He’s obviously smart himself, but he’s also got that establishment sheen, that respectability - he has his purpose here too, I think. You need to use that to Choong’s advantage so they’re only talking about how good you guys are.” 

Geum-ja smiled despite herself. "Change the conversation, then.” 

“Precisely. Change the conversation.”

“And then what?” she asked.

Belinda’s eyes sharpened like talons. “Change the rules for the next fucking talented, tracksuit-wearing weirdo.”

Geum-ja grinned. “Mr Sterling is most definitely having an affair, by the way.”

“Awful, vile, _vile_ man,” replied Belinda with a shudder, checking her watch. “His wife will be delighted to know, I’m sure.” She paused, then looked seriously at Geum-ja. “Does Mr Yoon know about the terrible things you’ve done?” 

Geum-ja nodded jerkily at that. 

“And yet, he's still here,” she pointed out, and got up. “I have to run. I have a committee meeting in five.” 

Geum-ja stood. “Thank you, Belinda. I appreciate it.”

Belinda turned to Geum-ja. “Listen, darling. The compromise doesn’t have to kill you, or anyone else. You deliver win/wins to clients all the time. It’s not a stretch to give yourself one, too.”

Geum-ja looked at her with narrowed eyes. “You have three daughters, Belinda. You really shouldn’t be such a romantic.” 

Belinda laughed, a throaty sound that startled the Brazilians. “That’s why I have to be one, isn’t it. Anyway, chin up. Buy me a martini before you leave, alright?”

Geum-ja nodded at her as she walked off, her boot heels making a staccato noise on the concrete. 

-

She thought of Hee-jae then, who was probably still asleep in bed, just as she’d left him. She steeled herself, hands in pockets and shoulders squared against the sudden wind tunnel whipping around the corners of the building, as she made her way to the lobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe "housetraining" at least in part to drivingsideways' brilliant TKEM fic, "Destiny's Child". 
> 
> The nutcracker/hammer analogy is not mine; it comes from an actual judgment.
> 
> The discussion about rooms is adapted from Graydon Carter's theory of seven rooms.


	3. empty-handed dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She left the room for a day of walking, heart still in her throat, or perhaps not there at all, but curled up by his side, unrelenting and unchangeable.

“You never wake up before me,” he said by way of greeting as she walked through, coffees in hand. He got up sharply, in the manner of someone unaccustomed to sleeping in, and pulled himself to the side, hands padding around for his spectacles and phone. 

“I had an early meeting with Belinda, and then the Americans,” she told him, leaning against the back of the couch in front of the bed and handing him a coffee. He scooted forward, in his glasses, unstyled hair and threadbare sleep clothes, took his cup and waited for her to speak.

“You wanted to go without me.” He tilted his head at her, understanding suddenly dawning on him. “Oh. I see. It’s a no, then?” 

She looked around the room, mouth twisting unhappily as she tried to find the words. “I knew what Belinda was going to say, so I didn’t see a point in dragging you too.” 

“What was it?”

“They don’t trust us enough -” 

“That’s nonsense,” he replied calmly, sipping his coffee. “What was it? Our client list is impeccable and we tick off all the boxes.”

“We don’t have enough long-term clients; not enough government clients, so we’re not diverse -” she shook her head and paced about the room, methodically ticking off the salient points in the conversation and all the arguments for and against them - “I know what you want to say, but we have to retainIssume and the Sons for as long as we can. That’s how we show we’re in it for the long haul,” she concluded.

He looked up at her. “What’s the real reason?”

“We’re not traditional enough for them; they think we’re dating. Someone saw us last night.” 

Hee-jae swore then, unusually for him, put his coffee down and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“ It wasn’t the determining factor, but - “

“It didn’t help,” he finished for her. 

Last night seemed like an age ago now. They’d had steak on the Upper West Side (Geum-ja, rare and undaintily; Hee-jae, medium rare, very daintily) and drank enough to render them both flushed and just a little uninhibited. 

He’d pressed her up against an old statue of Eleanor Roosevelt in Riverside Park on the way back to their hotel, hands under her coat; indiscreet and enjoying it because they were not home, no one to tell on them, and kissed her, like he’d been holding back all throughout dinner and had just gotten a little desperate. It had been perfect. She knew he was remembering the same thing, because he looked ill.

“Look, everything else aside, they might have a point.” 

He looked at her sharply, eyes narrowed and arms folded. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?” 

“What do you want, Hee-jae? Out of this business, out of the work?” 

He sipped his coffee. “I was supposedly the ace of Song & Kim, and I wanted to succeed Song Pil-jung as a representative partner.”

Geum-ja nodded. “Well, that was before. And now?” 

He looked determined. “To run the top law firm in the country. To build it from the ground up, and have it belong to nobody but us. It’s better than the old dream.”

She settled in, elbows on knees. She had to get this right. “We’re on the same page. Here’s the thing. We’re a mostly-unknown quantity, and if all they know about us is _this_ -” she gestured between them both rapidly - “that’s undermining us, both and separately, in different ways. I make you look like a kid who needs to be told what to do, you make me look-” 

Hee-jae frowned then, like she’d better not say what’s about to come next. 

“- Like some sort of manipulative witch, because _surely_ you could do better. It’s what things look like. You know I’m right. Let’s capitalise what we’re both good at. We have a chance to build something lasting here - a proper legacy; let's not squander it."

She could see him making the calculations in his head; she knew there was no way he could disagree, not if she pitched the argument just right, and she’d done so. 

He looked down at the floor, and then up at her. “So that’s it, then,” he said flatly. “At least you had the courtesy of telling me to my face this time.” 

That landed like a slap, but she soldiered on, sitting next to him. “It means _everything_ for us to get this right. We do it right or we don't do it at all,” she stated, gut lurching with every word. “I owe you and the team as much.” 

He smiled a little then, and it was so despairing that she took his hand, curled against his thigh. He interlaced their fingers and they sat there like that for a while. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said, finally, voice thick and watery now, and he kissed the back of her hand, her rings. 

His mouth was set stiffly, and she brushed her thumb against it, trying to erase it, and leaned forward to kiss him instead. Because he was wrong; she _had_ to get this right. 

Hee-jae was -- more than a friend or a lover -- he was a _partner_ , someone who followed what she was thinking, trusted how she moved and cleared her flank while she did so. Losing all of that - the work that had gone into building their practice, pulling together their team - just for a chance at a wisp of something? That wasn’t a choice at all. They’d go after their dreams first, and then the rest - if Hee-jae turned away, went in another direction, she’d have to take those lumps as they came. 

Hee-jae’s fingers were around her neck , unyielding, as if to let go was unimaginable, but he returned her kiss feverishly and stopped, just as suddenly "I can't," he said, disengaging and walking away to the bathroom. 

She left the room for a day of walking, heart still in her throat, or perhaps not there at all, but curled up by his side, unrelenting and unchangeable. 

-

It's late when she got back to the room after a long walk all over the city, and she expected him to be fast asleep since they'd been up late the night before, but he was wide awake. He was dressed up, navy blue suit minus the tie, which meant he might have gone for that concert earlier. He looked out the window at the city, hands in his pockets, deep in thought. 

Sometimes she forgot just how exceptionally beautiful a man he was. He was incredibly stubborn, nagged endlessly and despite knowing exactly what she was thinking, he argued with her anyway on principle. She wasn't thinking of those things right now. He turned around then with a small smile - collar loose and hair damp from the rain outside - and extended a hand to her. 

Geum-ja took his hand and embraced him from behind, feeling the soft wool against her face, the movement of his muscles beneath. She breathed him in - ozone and faint traces of his cologne. 

"We still have a day, don't we," he asked, soft as the autumn rain outside. "We'll start tomorrow." 

"It wouldn't be right," she replied, pressing her face against the notch of his back, trying to feel for it beneath the coat and shirt, twisting her hands with his, like this was a way to stave off the inevitable. 

"I think," he said patiently, far stiller than she was, "that you should stop trying to decide what's good for me." He turned around to face her then, framed her face with all the gentleness in the world and kissed her with none of it. 

“I can’t do that to you,” she whispered when he released her, and then gasped as he held her wrists to the wall (no give), pinned her hips down with his (unforgiving and sharp and deliciously hard, fuck) and leaned down to her ear. 

"Do it anyway." 

She shouldn't have gone and breathed him in, she thought as he pressed her against the wall, all effortless strength. Not now, not all those months ago as Kim Hee-sun, when she did it and her brain went, _oh_ , that’s _lovely_. What a fatal error she’d made, what a miscalculation _._

Most of the time, Jung Geum-ja was in control of everything about herself, and that included how turned on she wanted to be and how she wanted to fuck someone. Yoon Hee-jae was an outlier to all that, the way he screwed up everything, making her weak and desperate. 

She could feel his smirk against her ear, and just like that, lust curled down her wrists and slammed down to the core of her; her eyes fluttered shut at the force of it. She needed his touch, and she was usually shameless about it, taking his hand and shoving it wherever she wanted it, but today, she’d have to wait, she'd let him take what he wanted, when he wanted it; and he released her left wrist to slip his right hand into her jeans. He didn’t go under, though, rubbing at the cotton fabric aimlessly --

"Tell me you want it too," he demanded. "Tell me - you know I won't, not until you tell me you want me too." 

"Ah -" she gasped, "-fuck, _fuck_ you-"

"Say it," he demanded again, begged, and she was powerless. 

"I want it too, I always do -" 

Maybe he decided to take mercy on her now, but she's barely done getting the words out and his fingers glided past the cotton and right along her clit, the rhythm slow but relentless, just the way she always liked it, and she must be almost dripping by now, god - what is it about him? _Screw everything else_ , she thought, _set it on fire, leave him like this, with me, always like this -- always --_

He sucked a bruise into the side of her neck, sinking his fingers into her, plush and overfull and perfect, and her legs weren’t about to hold her up for much longer. Couldn’t she just wrap her legs around him? They'd done that before, at least that way she'd have some damn leverage, not like this -- 

“You can’t come now -- you have to wait -," he gasped against her mouth, suddenly disoriented, as if he realised she was trying to figure out how to finish herself off. They're both still fully dressed - somehow, he was still wearing his jacket and his right cuff was a mess. By this point she would have asked him for a show - and he always obliged, good boy that he was, but she didn’t want that now. 

She pushed him onto the edge of the bed, watching his dark eyes, the hair curling over his forehead, fixing him with her own gaze as she stood in between the vee of his stupidly long legs. He leaned back on his palms, watching as she stripped off her top and stepped out of her jeans, no art to it at all. That’s apparently all the self-restraint he had, because he grabbed her then, and she got to climb all on top of him like she wanted. He mouthed indiscriminately against her neck, down towards her nipples (and his _teeth,_ goodness, there were going to be marks in the daylight) and he flipped her down on the bed, easy as you please. 

He licked at her a little through her panties and she hit her head against the pillow- because he was doing it on purpose-, she knew that much. He then slid it off; she was bare to the cool air of the room for a mere millisecond before his tongue flicked at her clit lazily, moving further down to where she’s already messy and wet and then back up again. Still in his fucking jacket.

“Hurry up,” she tried to order, although it came out more like she was begging. “I can’t, you can’t-”

“Shut up,” he replied, no heat or domination in it, just certainty. “I’m taking my time today,” and finally, he rose up to his knees, slid his jacket off and flicked the buttons off his shirt. When he climbed over her again, she pawed at his chest and abs, testing the muscles out, running a finger along the line of his dick, trying to rile him up to do something - anything, really, other than _take his fucking time,_ and he pushed her wrists by her head and shook his head. 

It was strange, how this lack of stimulation from anything other than his fingers on her wrists and his dark eyes - wasn’t the lack of it, but a different kind of stimulation altogether. Because being _seen,_ like this, sweating and naked and _wanting_ ; it was raw and too much and she couldn't take it, couldn’t take being like this in front of him. 

Hee-jae was devoted, always had been, but there was always this misconception that to be devoted was to be gentle, or weak somehow, or easily maneuvered; he wasn’t any of those things, because to be a true believer was to be at least somewhat insane deep down inside. It took a certain kind of madness to perform yearslong penance just to see the face of a disinterested god. 

When he was finally, finally ready, he slid in smooth and all the way to the hilt, lighting up all the nerves inside her. She shut her eyes then and turned away, trying to drown in the sensation of it, and his hand snapped away from her wrist to her chin, turning her face back to him. 

He took an entire age, moving so slowly that she started to lose that teetering edge of orgasm, only to be yanked back when he twisted up into her. She wanted to drown in it, immerse herself in his skin, sweat and the feel of his hands on her - anything but having to look into those eyes, filled with a grief she couldn’t even begin to access in herself. _What are you looking for,_ she wanted to scream. _I’m not there - I might never be, I’m not you, I’m purposefully, intolerably cruel and I will break your heart, again and again, if you let me,_ but that was not what she saw when she dared to look. What she saw threatened to unspool her completely. 

“Move, c’mon,” she managed to ask, if only to distract his gaze. 

It must have been a cue of sorts, because he put his entire strength into one transitional thrust and sped up, punching the breath out of her. “Do you know something?” 

“Mmmm,” she said, noncommittal as she enjoyed the speed, the sheer depth, eyes shut in undiluted pleasure. 

“There’s no such thing as an eidetic memory, not really, but-” and here, he thrust proper sharp and she gasped. “But I remember everything, _everything_ we’ve ever done, and I remember it so well-”

“Everything you’ve ever said, every time you’ve ever touched me - I have not forgotten anything, ever -" - his fingers are at her clit now, sliding with precision --

“Yoon, oh - god, fuck, what are you - _shut up and fuck me_ ,” she threatened as though she was in control, but he didn’t change his pace, and carried on like she hadn’t said a thing. 

“Do you ever remember, or are you as merciless to yourself as you are to me,” he asked, punctuating with another thrust. “I just realised. You must be, because you can’t even look at me."

She wanted to scream and maybe she already had, because she was extremely close and he wouldn’t shut up - “Open your eyes,” he commanded, and she did, powerless to refuse. There was one last, strategic curl of his finger and one last, powerful thrust and she felt like she was exploding, starbursts behind her eyes as her climax hit her like a tidal wave, and he was there too, close behind. 

He was still inside her, trembling, and she couldn’t speak, not like this, when he had so thoroughly taken her apart. He gathered her close, drawing her to his chest. She touched his face, in the darkness; it came away a little wet, and her heart clenched. 

“Well, that ought to be memorable,” he whispered lightly, his tone at odds with what she felt on his cheek. “Sleep now.” 

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled, yawning. 

“Okay,” he replied, completely reasonable as she dozed off. 

-

They regrouped the next morning over coffee, with Hee-jae in glasses, taking notes; Geum-ja, yawning. 

“So what do you propose? Are we going for the top by ranking, or profit, or some other metric?” he asks. 

She mused out loud. “IFLR ranking, I think. It’s more holistic than pure profit."

He tapped his pen against the inner spine of his notebook. "We've not gone after Song & Kim's clients, except for the ones who came to us. There's no non-compete clause, so we could _technically_ -"

"Very, _very_ creatively -"

"It's possible, right?" His eyes lit up at the possibilities. 

"If you don't mind making a permanent enemy of Mr Ma, that is," she advised. "Well, it’s convenient that he still looks down on us. It’ll take him a while to figure out what we’re up to.” 

"He has neither Song Pil-jung's tactical sense, nor Ms Kim's heritage. I'm honestly not that concerned about him," shrugged Hee-jae. 

“We’ll have eyes on him,” assured Geum-ja. “Next?” 

"The last item on our agenda,” announced Hee-jae with a final sip of his coffee. “Relationships.”

Geum-ja sighed, running a finger back and forth on her lower lip. “Of course, especially if it’s strategic, either individually or for the firm.” 

Hee-jae looked at her with narrowed eyes. She expected a sarcastic comment, but it didn’t come, much to her surprise. 

“We don’t go to events with those people. No one to KBA events, anything where we’re attending as law partners. It’s in the firm’s best interest to not distract from business. And another thing - I want to reassess in a year.”

“We would anyway do that along with the financials -- oh. You don’t mean the financials. Three years, then.” 

“Why are you hustling me on this? Make it a part of the yearly partnership declarations. Do discussion points of October 15th still stand, or something like that, so it doesn’t look out of place,” he concluded. “Anything else? I wanted to head out to the Neue Galerie today, and we go home tomorrow, so I should get on with it.” 

She shook her head. “I wanted to catch up with Belinda today. Carry on then,” she finished off, making for the door before he could say anything else. 

“Jung Geum-ja?” His voice echoed behind her. 

Hee-jae looked tired and pale in an old SNU t-shirt and sleep pants, but in that moment, he looked like a man who’d made a momentous decision and was very certain of it. Her skin prickled like she’d been thrust into sunlight after days of darkness.

“I’m never not going to feel this way,” he said evenly. “I hope you remember that. We’ll get to the last room, alright?” 

-

They fought on the way to the airport, delayed by a French lawyer who didn’t quite know how to stop hitting on Hee-jae, and an unsuccessful search for her missing rings all over the room. She refused to talk to him, opting to read and highlight cases and making the ink squeak, knowing he found it utterly infuriating. He drank chardonnay at the lounge with a vengeance, knowing it made him snore, which she absolutely detested.

When their flight finally landed in Incheon International Airport, they were fast asleep, fingers loosely laced together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The ring-kissing is inspired by and for drivingsideways. 
> 
> 2\. If you remotely liked the smut (or any other part of this at all), please thank @thefeastandthefast. Y'all, I typed it all out and RAN AWAY like a common criminal. She firmly fixed everything that needed fixing, and loved and shaped these characters with me. I am ridiculously fortunate. MANY KISSES FEAST
> 
> 3\. I have taken many, many liberties with how lawyers might do things. 
> 
> 4\. If you have FEELINGS about what I've done, please yell at me in the comments. If you need me to fix it now, please go ahead and read "fingers laced together" because that's where these guys go eventually. (IT'S A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE).


End file.
